Rum Punch and Steel Drums
by razztaztic
Summary: BONES 2011 Secret Santa Fanfic, organized by Biba79. Alternate ending for "The Man in the Wall." Tessa backed out on the trip to Jamaica. Booth has an extra plane ticket. Guess who goes with him instead?
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This is my effort for the _Bones Secret Santa Fanfic _organized by Biba79. I had two great prompts which despite their greatness, nonetheless kept me up nights trying to find a stroke of inspiration. One was Christmas related but since there have been so many great Christmas-themed stories, I wasn't sure I could add anything new. The second was for a different take on B&B getting together at any point before the 100th episode, not to include that first case as an option for said getting together. I like current canon and I believe that the route they took was the right one for Booth and Brennan so thinking about them together before now is odd for me, and I've been flummoxed. But then a post on_ Bones Theory_ gave me the stroke of inspiration I needed. So, a big "THANK YOU" to Sarah for the wonderful blog that is_ Bones Theory_ and the _Vintage Bones_ posts. _

_Christina (cmol8806), here is Chapter 1 of your_ Bones Secret Santa Fic. _The final chapters wil__l be posted before the January 9 deadline, pinky swear. _

_(Actual dialogue from the episode courtesy of the excellent writers of season one.)_

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><p><em>.<em>

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Booth watched as the news anchor updated the public on the status of the investigation just completed, his shoulders hunched as he sat at the bar alone. The much-too-sweet rum concoction he'd ordered earlier sat in front of him almost ignored. From the corner of his eye he saw Brennan walk slowly into the restaurant and pause to stare at the TV as well. With a sigh, he clicked off the TV and tossed the remote aside.

She hesitated a moment, taking in his posture and the untouched drink in one sweeping glance. Without waiting for an invitation, she slipped onto the stool beside him. "Getting yourself in the mood?"

He pulled a slice of pineapple from the toothpick stuck into the drink. "Trying," he responded, chewing slowly. Almost unwillingly, his eyes slanted toward her. "You know, this really isn't going to be the type of vacation I was hoping for."

"Oh?" She avoided his gaze.

"Tessa's not going." Booth's tone was short. "Something came up at work." He glanced at her briefly, then picked up his drink.

"Too bad." Her voice trailed into silence; when he began to shift restlessly, she hurried to tack on an apology. "I'm sorry." Her tone was supportive when she added, "I like going on vacations by myself."

He looked at her in skeptical disbelief. "Really?"

"Sure," she nodded. "Nothing wrong with being alone."

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. "No, I mean, you like to go on vacation." He wasn't surprised when his levity went unnoticed.

"Yes, I go places all the time."

Booth chuckled inwardly at her cluelessness, then paused as an idea began to form in the back of his mind. His eyes strayed to her again, narrowed in speculation. "Ever just, you know, sit on the beach?" His grin was wide and almost flirtatious. "Pretend there's no such thing as skeletons?"

The faint hint in his question sailed over her head. "Is that in any way fun?"

He tried again. "When was the last time you got away?"

"Got away from what?" she asked curiously.

Unable to prevent a chuckle from escaping, he turned away and rested his chin on his hand. "Oh, Bones, you know." He picked up the small paper umbrella and twirled it on the counter as he prevaricated. "What usually happens to me," he confessed finally, "is I think about not coming back."

"Seriously?"

"Yea." Standing to draw on his jacket, Booth missed the note of alarm in Brennan's voice as she watched him settle the black leather over his wide shoulders. He picked up the plane tickets he'd tossed on the counter earlier and headed toward the exit. "You know, you go with someone, you joke about not going back to your real life. The two of you laugh." He stopped beneath the curved archway and looked back at her. "When you're alone, the world is full of possibilities."

Seconds ticked away as he stood there, tickets in hand, his eyes locked on hers. When the barest hint of a smile crossed her face, the idea he'd had earlier roared to life again and in a snap, Booth made his decision. He took one step forward.

"Come with me."

For a moment, Brennan was speechless. "Come with you?" she repeated, puzzled, her brow furrowed. "To Jamaica?"

"Yea." Another step brought him closer. "The tickets are paid for, the hotel is paid for." His voice dropped a notch, deepening to a husky growl as he placed one hand on the bar and leaned in further. "Come with me."

Her eyes blinked rapidly as she processed her confusion. "But Tessa . . ."

"Isn't going." His chin dropped, his eyes darkened to smoke as he repeated the tempting offer. "Come on, Temperance. Come with me. Be spontaneous." The devil of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

He heard the catch in her breath and his own chest tightened as the memory of a kiss in the rain washed over him. "I . . ." she cleared her throat and tried again. "I don't have anything packed."

"You're rich," he responded, shrugging aside the objection. "On the best seller list and everything." The scent of her filled every breath he took, making his nostrils flare. "You can buy what you need there."

"My passport is in my office." Her voice didn't rise above a whisper.

Neither did his. "So go get it."

The silence grew taut and heavy before Brennan abruptly slipped off the bar stool and faced him, shoulders squared, chin raised defiantly. "I'm not going to have sex with you," she declared.

Sensing victory, Booth's grin widened. "I haven't asked you to."

"You will," she replied smugly.

He stepped back and allowed her to walk around him. "I don't know what you're talking about." He arranged his expression into one of schoolboy innocence. "I just thought you'd enjoy a little vacation, that's all. Anything else is just your overactive imagination, Bones."

Brennan tossed a knowing look over her shoulder as she rushed out of Wong Fu's. "Just remember you said that."

As she disappeared from view, Booth sat down on the edge of the stool she'd vacated, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The surly mood of earlier erased, he laughed to himself and tucked the plane tickets safely away in the inside pocket of his jacket.

_Jamaica with Bones. This should be interesting . . .  
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><p><em>Sunscreen? Check. Beach towel? Check. Booth on a beach? Check, baby. Check.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

The group on the platform stared in surprise when Brennan rushed back into the lab.

"Zach," she called out as she hurried past them, "while I'm away, I need you to catalogue the skull from the French Revolution and make sure it's returned to the exhibit."

"Of course." He frowned as he visually tracked her path to the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to Jamaica with Booth," she answered simply. "Dr. Hodgins, please double check the case notes and file logs and see they're shipped to Booth's office. Leave a copy on my desk." The instructions were tossed carelessly over her shoulder as her steps carried her quickly in the direction of her office.

Angela and Hodgins stared at each other in shock. "Wait a minute." Angela shook her head and ran after Brennan. "What? You're going to Jamaica? With Booth?"

"Yes." Brennan was behind her desk, searching through drawers and throwing them shut again.

"Since when?" Angela's mouth hung open as she watched her friend gather an assortment of toiletries and other supplies.

"Since ten minutes ago. I'm being spontaneous." Without another look at her friend, Brennan switched off the lights and headed out.

"Wait . . . Brennan! Wait!" Angela tried to match her steps to Brennan's quick pace. "Will you stop? Tell me what happened!"

Brennan waved her off dismissively. "I don't have time to explain. We have to get to the airport." She stopped in the doorway of the administrator's office. "Dr. Goodman, I will be taking a few days off," she told her astonished boss. " I expect to be back in ten days. Thank you." She turned to leave.

"Dr. Brennan." Shocked, Goodman rose from his chair and stared from her to Angela.

"She's going to Jamaica with Booth," Angela explained, eyebrows raised.

"Be that as it may," he sputtered, "there are procedures to follow . . ." His voice trailed away as Angela's words sunk in. "You're going to the Caribbean with Agent Booth?"

"Yes," Brennan answered. "I'll see you in ten days. Goodbye."

"Dr. Brennan . . ." She was already gone.

Angela chased at her heels. "Sweetie, stop! You can't just go away with Booth and not tell me what's going on!"

"I don't have time to explain." Brennan skipped quickly down the stairs and waved goodbye as she slipped through the double glass doors. "I'll see you all in ten days!"

Angela came to a halt in the middle of the room and watched helplessly as her friend disappeared from view. "Brennan!" She stomped one foot in frustration. "Brennan!"

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At the airport, Booth passed the thin envelope to the agent behind the counter. "We need to transfer this ticket to a different passenger," he said, adding a smile designed to elicit cooperation as he read the name tag pinned to her shirt. "Can you help us with that, Deidre?"

"Certainly, sir." The pretty blonde dimpled automatically. "May I have the identification of the additional passenger?"

Brennan rolled her eyes as the woman succumbed easily to Booth's charm but handed over her drivers license. "I'm the additional passenger."

Her fingers flew over the keys of the computer as the agent examined the ticket and Brennan's ID before she looked at Booth apologetically. "I'm sorry, sir, I can't transfer this ticket. I'll have to cancel it and issue a new one in the your friend's name. There will be an additional fee."

Brennan reached for her wallet again. "Here . . ."

Booth's large hand covered hers. "I got it," he said. "I paid for the original ticket, this was my idea. I'll cover the extra."

"Are you sure?" Brennan looked at him skeptically. "My financial situation is more . . . flexible than yours."

His answer was a raised eyebrow as he passed his credit card across the counter.

Trying to gauge their status, the agent glanced from the computer screen to the couple in front of her, her curiosity obvious as she registered the female name on the ticket she canceled. "Change of plans?"

"His girlfriend dumped him."

"She did not dump me!" Embarrassed, Booth glared at Brennan. "We both . . . Never mind." He shook his head as both women looked at him. "She did not dump me," he repeated firmly.

"Well, it's good to see you're not pining." Smirking, the ticket agent passed Brennan's license back. "Will you be checking any bags?"

"No, I don't have any luggage." Seeing Deidre's raised eyebrows, she frowned defensively. "It was a last minute decision. I'll purchase attire for the week after we arrive."

"Oh." Deidre stapled the new ticket with a loud snap. "How nice."

Annoyed by the woman's knowing attitude, Brennan's chin lifted imperiously. "I'm not going to have sex with him," she asserted. "We're just colleagues. There's nothing romantic between us."

"Bones!" Face red, Booth stared daggers at her as he hissed in disapproval. "She doesn't care!"

This time, the agent didn't even try to hide her smile as she passed the final documents over the counter. "That's too bad." Her eyes gleamed with approval as they skimmed Booth's wide shoulders and dark good looks. "Take me with you," she teased. "I will."

His blush deepened. "Yea," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes, "thanks, Deidre." He stretched his neck as he cleared his throat, and moved Brennan away from the counter with a firm hand on one shoulder. "We better hurry or we'll miss the boarding call."

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A little more than four hours later, a taxi dropped them off in front of a picturesque, two-story home perched on a hillside overlooking a secluded cove. A broad porch wrapped around the ground floor of the house and above, a set of wide French doors opened to a small, private balcony. Gauzy curtains fluttered at each open window of the white-washed structure, drifting lazily in breezes that carried the salty tang of the sea.

As the car pulled up, a heavy, dark skinned woman emerged from inside to greet them with a blinding white smile. "Welcome to Jamaica!" she called out, in a voice ringing with the music of the islands. "You are the Booths, yes? I am Magda." She didn't give them a chance to answer but looked over her shoulder and snapped a command that brought a young boy rushing out to grab Booth's carry-on and the shopping bags that contained the airport shopping Brennan had done. She looked with approval on the limited amount of luggage as the youth disappeared into the house. "Small bags, small clothes," she nodded. "This is good." She waved them up the steps. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

When Brennan opened her mouth to speak, Booth silenced her with a touch on her arm. "About the room," he began as they entered the shadowed coolness of the home, "we were wondering if we could get another one . . ."

Magda paused at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor. "Oh, you'll love this room." Her face creased in a knowing grin. "Very private. Very quiet." The steps creaked beneath her weight as she made her way up. "Come," she said again.

There was a moment's silent hesitation when Booth and Brennan looked anywhere but at each other. Then Brennan's chin lifted firmly.

"We're both adults," she said, in a quiet voice meant only for his ears. "I'm sure it will be fine. I've shared sleeping quarters with the opposite sex on several digs. Once we see the furnishings, we can come to some sort of agreement regarding sleeping arrangements."

Another second passed before Booth nodded. "Yea, okay. I'm sorry, Bones," he added, his expression sincere. "I didn't think about the room when I asked you to come with me."

"It will be fine," she assured him again. "I have no doubt we can both behave appropriately."

"Appropriately," he repeated softly, losing himself for a moment in the shimmering blue of her eyes. His breath hitched as something in his chest shifted, the sensation so strong he actually brought one hand up to massage the area before he realized what he'd done. He pulled himself forcefully from the spell of her gaze, and turned away with a cough. "Yea, appropriately. I'm sure we can do that."

By this time, Magda had reached the top of the stairs and stood smiling down at them. "Up here," she waved. "You will enjoy this room, I think."

She'd given them the room that opened to the small balcony they'd noticed from below, a large, open room with a weathered oak floor covered in colorful hand-tied rugs. The whole space was filled with golden sunshine that warmed the pale green of a small sofa and the bleached wood of the furnishings. It was a pretty room, light and airy and welcoming.

But it was the bed that drew their unerring attention. Together, as if they'd rehearsed the moment, Booth and Brennan paused in the doorway and stared at the oversized piece of furniture that dominated the room. Covered with a plump white comforter and a multitude of lace-edged pillows, the four corners were thick, carved posters that reached almost to the ceiling, draped with loose netting that climbed the twisting columns and spread out in a thin canopy before falling lazily to the floor in filmy curtains that shifted seductively in the sultry, ocean-scented breeze.

It was a bed made for romance.

A bed made for love.

A bed made for sex.

Booth swallowed audibly.

Brennan opened her mouth to speak and when nothing came out, cleared her throat gently and tried again. "It's . . . lovely," was all she could manage.

Magda smiled at the other woman conspiratorially. "The bed is very comfortable," she said and then leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper as she winked. "Good springs. Very quiet." In a louder voice she indicated the bed hangings. "Don't forget to use them if you want to leave the windows open at night. They will keep the bugs away." More brusquely, she pointed out the closet and the adjoining bath. "Breakfast is at 8:00, although maybe there might be something if you sleep late." She cast a last, glowing smile on both of them before she departed. "I'll let you get settled."

The door closed behind her with a soft snick, leaving them alone.

Alone in a room facing the seductive, undulating waves of a sea that stretched out to infinity.

Alone in a room with a bed.

A big, wide bed covered in an inviting profusion of soft, thick pillows.

A bed large enough to get lost in, tangled together, hidden inside the drifting curtains . . . shadowed by nights that smelled of the ocean and sounded like the incoming tide.

They were alone.

Together.

In a room with a bed.

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><p><em>Judging by the number of alerts and favorites elicited by the first chapter, I've figured out the secret to writing <em>Bones_ fanfiction - apparently, all you guys need is Booth, Brennan and the potential for sex. Duly noted. :-)_


	3. Chapter 3

The silence stretched out until it assumed shape and form and stood between them like a living person.

They couldn't look at each other.

They wouldn't look at the bed.

They could only stare ahead, toward the open window and the flutter of sheer white curtains.

Finally, Booth cleared his throat. "I'll take the sofa."

Brennan shook her head. "It's much too small."

"It wouldn't be any better for you."

Laughter echoed from downstairs. The happy sound was almost taunting.

"The . . ." Booth paused and tried again. "It looks big enough for both of us." His eyes cut to the woman standing beside him. "The bed, I mean. There's plenty of room." He focused straight ahead again, his posture military stiff. "For both of us."

Brennan breathed deeply and then nodded. "Yes. It's very large. Magda also said it was comfortable." _And it has quiet springs._ Why they might be grateful for quiet springs brought images to mind that caused her to shake her head to clear them away. She risked her own glance at Booth's profile. "I prefer the left side, if that's alright."

"I usually sleep on the right so that's . . . yea."

A few more seconds of awkward silence passed before Brennan spoke again. "In the 17th century, unmarried couples slept in the same bed separated by a bundling board. It preserved the female's chastity and kept them . . . apart . . ." Her voice trailed away.

Booth turned toward her. "Do you want to put a tree in the middle of the bed?" His eyes laughed at her.

She shook her head. "An entire tree wouldn't be necessary. A plank would be sufficient . . ." She finally noticed the humor in his expression. "Oh. You were joking."

"Little bit." He laughed merrily, and the tension in the room eased. "You were joking, too, right?"

"Of course." The agreement came quickly. "A bundling board would be silly. I'm sure we can trust each other."

After a split-second's hesitation, Booth suddenly became loud and jocular. "Well!" He clapped his hands together loudly. "I say we get our stuff put away and then do something about dinner. I don't know about you but I'm starving. Sound good?"

She nodded her agreement and for the next few minutes they bustled about the room, offering formal, polite apologies when they chanced to bump into each other as they stowed away their belongings and put away toiletries.

Brennan was finished much too quickly. She stood for a moment considering the contents of the only drawer she'd used. "I need to do some shopping tonight," she announced. Booth paused on his way out of the bathroom, his gaze questioning. "I don't have anything to sleep in."

"Oh." She watched as his gaze flicked to the bed behind her then traveled quickly over her slim form before he swallowed and turned back into the bathroom he'd just left. "Uh . . . you can borrow one of my t-shirts if you want. For tonight, I mean." He didn't quite meet her eyes when he glanced back. "We can take care of the shopping first thing tomorrow and then we'll have the rest of the time to, you know, do whatever."

A flush of heat spread through her at the thought of the night ahead, sleeping beside him wearing only his shirt. She tamped it down firmly and managed a smile. "Lie on the beach and pretend skeletons don't exist?"

"Exactly."

Their eyes caught and held until Brennan broke the silence with a soft murmur. "I appreciate your offer. Thank you."

"Sure." The moment stretched out in silence until it was broken by the blare of a car's horn from outside. Booth took a step back and pasted a wide smile on his face. "So - dinner?" he asked cheerfully.

"Dinner." She followed him out of the room.

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Downstairs, Magda told them about a local festival taking place that night and encouraged them to go. "There will be music and dancing and food. So much food!" she laughed. "It is the perfect way to begin your holiday in Jamaica. Jerrick!" A young man appeared from a doorway at the end of the hallway. "This is Jerrick, my oldest son. He will drive you to the festival and return for you when you're ready to come back."

After nodding their thanks, Booth looked at Brennan. "Maybe I should see about getting a car tomorrow."

Magda immediately shook her head. "Jerrick can drive you anywhere you'd like to go. Our roads can be very dangerous if you're not used to driving here."

Booth thanked her again, then turned to the woman beside him, his eyes alight with the spirit of adventure. "What do you say, Bones? Does a street festival in Jamaica sound like a good way to spend our first night?"

Brennan responded automatically to the playfulness in his expression and the palpable sense of excitement that surrounded him. "It sounds like an excellent way to begin!"

They almost skipped down the steps to the waiting car. With an ostentatious display of good manners, Booth held open one of the back doors and waited while Brennan slid inside.

They sped away into the twilight.

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Four hours later they were back in the car, headed toward their hotel with stomachs and heads full. The village was used to the visitors who came to stay at Magda's bed & breakfast and the street festival had lived up to her generous promise of fun and food. As the sun sank into the horizon, an impromptu competition between local reggae bands broke out, adding to the air of easy frivolity. Booth and Brennan joined the throng of dancers, sometimes partnering each other and sometimes being stolen away by someone from the crowd for the length of a song before, inevitably, they came together again.

As the night deepened, Booth found his gaze lingering more and more on the beautiful woman who'd accepted what amounted to a dare to join him for this vacation. They shared bottles of the local beer, agreed that it was somewhat tasteless but drank more anyway and, gradually, their usually cautious behavior slipped away. They danced together more and more as the rest of the crowd seemed to disappear.

Booth's rough hand stroked the length of her arm when she spun in front of him . . . and lingered a few seconds too long at her hips.

The music slowed. Brennan moved a bit too eagerly into his arms . . . and fitted her body just a tad too closely against his.

They lit a match and played with fire. The night was warm and sultry and perfumed by smells of the ocean. They were alone together. Strangers in a crowd, where no one knew them. Where no one would judge their behavior.

Anything could happen.

It wasn't until they left the excitement of the festival behind that the dangers of the evening's closeness struck them. Sitting in the back of a car hurtling recklessly up the hillside, blanketed by a sky dotted with a million stars and serenaded by the music of the waves, they were suddenly tense with their awareness of each other. The silence grew thick and heavy, humming with unspoken possibility.

Booth's voice broke into the quiet first. "So . . . you want the bathroom first?" He stared at her hand and at the fingertips drawing tiny circles on her knee as she stared out the window.

She chanced a quick look over. "You should go first, I think. I'll probably take longer . . . I don't want to make you wait."

"Okay."

Neither spoke for the rest of the ride back.

They tiptoed up the stairs to their room, careful to avoid disturbing the rest of the house. Booth collected a few things from the bureau, hesitated briefly and then turned to Brennan. A dark, folded square of fabric was in his hands. "A t-shirt," he offered, his voice quiet. "For you to sleep in."

"Oh," Brennan answered. "Yes. Thank you." Her fingernails grazed his palm as she accepted the soft cotton. She didn't see his jaw clench and he didn't notice that her breath stilled for a second before she stepped back. "I appreciate your generosity."

He turned into the bathroom abruptly and it wasn't until the door closed behind him that her shoulders relaxed. She opened the folded t-shirt and held it up for inspection. Soft, black, unremarkable. She fingered the somewhat beaten edge of the collar and judged it one he'd owned for quite a while, a comfortable garment worn to an even softer state by frequent use. Acting on an impulse she didn't stop to examine, she lifted it to her face and inhaled, eyes closed as she breathed in the scent she would always associate with him. Clean, earthy, strong. Nothing she could identify in particular, just . . . Booth. Just the smell of Booth.

With a shake of her head she hooked the t-shirt over her forearm and stepped out onto the balcony. The quiet hum of the shower behind her was almost drowned out by the sounds of the birds and other animals that populated the trees on the hillside. The wind was cool, with a hint of moisture from the water below. She stared down at the cove, watching the play of the moonlight on the water, losing herself in the random patterns created by light and waves, her usually well-ordered mind a jumbled mishmash of thoughts and memories.

"Shower's free. I don't think I used all the hot water."

His voice startled her, drawing a loud gasp that was quickly swallowed into nothing as she spun around to face him. Hair still gleaming wet, he stood in the open doorway wearing only a simple pair of boxers and a plain white t-shirt that clung in random, damp patches to his chest. The sight shouldn't have been intimate but it was, a feeling exaggerated by the sensual sway of the bed hangings visible just past his shoulder.

Brennan mentally shook herself out of her frozen state and stepped forward into the room. "If you did, I'll be sure to let you know."

His smile followed her into the still-steamy bathroom. "I have no doubt of that."

She showered away the day's travel and the smell of the festival and pushed aside the treacherous voice that whispered suggestions more suited to preparing her body for a date and the potential for sex. With focused determination, she tamped down thoughts of the man waiting in the bed just outside the door, and thought she was successful in banishing the wayward distractions until she realized long minutes had passed while she stood with her fingers clasped around the handle of the bathroom door, not moving. Angry with herself, she flung it open.

And stopped breathing.

She could see him through the fluttering gauze of the bed curtains, sitting up in bed reading from a magazine she knew had earlier been on the table in front of the sofa. He'd taken off his t-shirt and even through the thin hangings she could see the warm glow of his skin. Her heart stuttered in an uneven beat.

"You removed your shirt." The exclamation sounded almost accusing.

"It's hot," he shrugged. Then his eyes widened. "No. No." He shook his head quickly. "The shirt is all . . . I'm still wearing . . . I'm not . . . It's just the shirt. I just took off the t-shirt."

"Oh." Before she could formulate a better response, his eyes slid down the long length of her with the slow warmth of hot molasses.

He grinned. "Great legs, Bones."

Her nervousness fell away with the chuckle his teasing remark drew from her.

"Thank you," was all she said as she pulled back the curtains and slipped into bed beside him. She settled onto her back and didn't even try to muffle the comfortable groan that escaped as she nestled deeper into the mattress. "Magda was right, this bed is comfortable. Or," her jaw cracked with a wide yawn, "I'm just exhausted."

She nuzzled her head into the softness of a pillow, and turned her chin a fraction of an inch to find him watching her. Images from the festival just hours before flashed through her memory . . . his hands on her hips . . . her arms draped around his neck.

When his lashes lowered, hiding the warm brown irises, she knew his thoughts were the same.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Booth."

The magazine landed on the floor with a shuffle of paper. The glow through her closed eyelids changed when he switched off the lamp on the bedside table. The mattress shifted as he slid low beneath the sheets.

His voice held a smile when he murmured, "Goodnight, Temperance."

The room was quiet, the only sounds coming from the movement of the sea below and the strong, even breathing maintained by two people who lay next to each other for the first time. They were surrounded by darkness, cocooned together in a wide bed enveloped by miles of sheer fabric that fluttered gracefully with every small breeze.

The minutes ticked by. Brennan opened her eyes and stared at the canopy above her head, picking out random patterns in the shadows that danced there. Booth wasn't sleeping either. His chest moved evenly, rhythmically, but she knew was also awake and alert.

His raspy whisper broke the silence.

"If you were home right now, what would you be doing?"

"Accounting for the time change or what I would be doing at this particular time, at home?" Her voice was as quiet as his.

She didn't see the grin that twisted his lips at the expected literal interpretation of his question. "This time, close to midnight."

She drew and released a deep breath, thinking. "I would be writing, probably, or editing. Or possibly reading. I might also be at the lab, if we had a case." Her head moved briefly in his direction.

"Not sleeping?" He kept his gaze on the fabric above their heads.

"I don't need a great deal of sleep," she answered. She hesitated for a moment. "What about you? What would you be doing?"

Sheets rustled again as he shrugged. "Falling asleep on the couch, probably. I always miss the end of the game."

She couldn't resist a glance at his profile, brought into sharp relief by the dusky night shadows. "So, Tessa . . . is that really over?"

He nodded without speaking. And without looking at her.

She rolled to her side, facing him, and slipped one hand beneath her cheek as she considered him thoughtfully. "Angela said you balked at stage six."

Now his head turned toward her. "Stage what?"

Brennan shrugged. "Stage six. She went through a list of relationship stages and . . . Well, I've never heard of them before," she admitted, "but she said you and Tessa got to stage six and balked."

"Angela doesn't always know what she's talking about." Booth, too, turned on his side and faced Brennan. "But she wasn't exactly wrong - at least not this time."

Their eyes met and held as they talked. The darkened room, the soothing music of the waves drifting in from the open windows and the moonlight playing on the hangings surrounding the bed combined to create a feeling of intimacy, enhancing a connection they'd both felt from their very first meeting. Their voices remained just above a whisper.

"What happened?"

His dark eyes played over her face, lingering on her lips as she spoke.

"It was something Angela said," he acknowledged reluctantly. "It made us stop and consider where we were going, as a couple." One shoulder lifted casually. "It didn't take much to realize that we weren't really going anywhere." His gaze was intent on her. "The feelings weren't there, not the way they should have been."

"I'm sorry," Brennan said, and meant it.

He shrugged again. "Have you ever lived with someone?"

She nodded. "Briefly. It didn't work out. What about you? Have you ever lived with anyone else?"

"Tessa and I weren't really living together," Booth corrected. "We each had our own place. But, yea, I did. Once before. My ex." His eyes dropped briefly to the white sheet beneath them. "My son's mother."

Brennan's head drew back in surprise. "You have a child?"

His wide smile shone brightly, even in the dark. "Yea. His name is Parker, he's four. Remind me to show you his picture tomorrow," he offered.

"I will," she promised. "Parker Booth." She sounded out the name slowly. "That's nice."

"He's a great kid." A father's pride filled his voice.

"What happened with your ex?" The intimate connection deepened as they continued to talk, giving her permission to ask questions she would not have otherwise.

"Her name's Rebecca," Booth answered. "I asked her to marry me, when she was pregnant, but she said no. Probably a good thing." His fingers plucked at a ripple in the sheet. "I don't get to see him as much as I want to," he admitted, "but I do the best I can." His gaze was fixed on hers within the darkened confines of the bed. "To be a good father."

"I'm sure you're an excellent father," she said simply.

His lips curled. "Thanks."

"It's not flattery," she shrugged. "You're a man of integrity and strong character. It's part of your nature to provide protection and support for those you care about. You couldn't be anything but a great father."

"It means a lot to me that you think that." His voice dropped further. The rasp of his whisper slid over her skin as easily as one of the breezes outside.

Brennan glanced around the curtained interior of the bed before meeting his eyes again. "I'm . . ." she hesitated for a brief second and then continued. "I'm sorry you didn't get to take this vacation with Tessa. I'm sure it would have been very different."

He considered her words for a long time and when he responded, it was with the warmth of sincerity. "I'm glad I'm with you."

The moment stretched out as they lay there, inches apart, staring at each other in the dark.

Finally, a quiet murmur reached her ears. "What the hell . . . I'm on vacation."

He leaned closer, one large hand reaching out to cradle her skull, and pulled her slowly forward, toward him. He gave her time to stop him, to say no, to object to what they both knew he intended.

But she didn't. She allowed him to draw her closer until the softness of his lips settled on hers. The width of the bed still separated them . . . they were connected only by that kiss . . . by his hand in her hair, holding her in place as the onslaught continued, as her lips parted willingly beneath his to allow the sweep of his tongue . . . as a soft sound escaped her throat and the grip of his fingers tightened.

When he began to gently draw back, she followed him, her lips clinging to his as he pulled away.

He looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring the warm flush he could see glowing faintly beneath her skin. Unable to resist, he leaned forward and kissed her one last time.

When her lashes fluttered open, he smiled.

"Goodnight, Bones."

Surprised, she lay in a frozen state of shock when he flipped to his other side and presented her with the golden skin of his broad back. Her eyes narrowed as she struggled to find deep, even breaths and waited for the tiny fires licking through her veins to subside.

Without warning, she yanked one of the pillows out from beneath his head.

"Hey!" His head turned in her direction.

"Sorry," she apologized with saccharine sweetness. "I like a lot of pillows."

With an audible huff, she turned her back on his and tucked the pillow she'd stolen into her stomach.

Booth was asleep within minutes, still smiling.

She lay awake for much longer.

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><p><em>tsk tsk tsk, Booth. Just remember . . . payback's a bitch.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Temperance Brennan shopped the way she did most things in her life – precisely, efficiently and with careful thought. She knew what she liked. She knew what colors and styles suited her. She could judge at a glance if an item would fit. She didn't shuffle through hangers or rifle through stacks of folded garments. When she entered a shop, she quickly scanned the merchandise displayed and if she saw something she wanted, she found the correct size, took it to a sales person and paid for it. And that was that.

Booth, on the other hand . . . well, Booth shopped like a girl. He was a tactile person, touching everything and running his fingers over the fabric as he considered every choice. If he saw a color he liked, he asked the salesclerk about styles not on the floor in that shade. He studied everything, picked through everything, had to see everything.

It drove Brennan crazy.

When he spent fifteen minutes dithering between two different ties, comparing the bright pattern on one with the loud colors of the other, she'd had enough. Almost snarling, she snatched both scraps of cloth out of his hands, marched to the counter and bought them herself.

"Do you plan on wearing one of these with the clothing you have on now?" The acerbic question was accompanied by a tart glance as she thrust the small shopping bag into his hands and cast a scathing eye over the "Eat Bertha's Mussels" t-shirt and olive green cargo shorts. "I don't think it matches."

He was unperturbed by her attitude. "Souvenirs, Bones." Jerrick had driven them to Negril after breakfast, leaving them on their own to wander the shops and boutiques of the resort town. "You know, you're kinda grumpy this morning. Didn't you sleep well?" His broad smile grew wider, his eyes twinkled innocently.

Brennan felt the warmth of a blush staining her cheeks. She closed her lips firmly and turned away without responding.

Yes, she had slept well. So well, in fact, that in the middle of the night she'd surfaced briefly to find herself curled against the broad expanse of his back, one knee pushed between his, an arm hooked over his waist. Her fingers were curled in his, tucked close against his chest. Horrified, she had tried to ease away without waking him but he'd only grumbled loudly and clutched her hand tighter against the warmth of his body. Despite plans to make another attempt to free herself, within minutes she'd settled back into sleep, too.

When the bright sun of early morning woke her again, she was alone. She had just begun to wonder about his whereabouts when the door to the bathroom opened and he stepped out, dressed in those shorts and that ridiculous t-shirt.

"Hey, you're awake! Good. I was just about to go hunt up some coffee. Want me to bring you a cup?"

She nodded wordlessly, mental fingers crossed that he had slept through her midnight burrowing.

It was a futile hope.

"Ok, I'll be right back." He paused in the doorway and looked back with an expression she knew meant trouble. "You know, Bones, I never would have guessed you were a cuddler." Then he walked out, the tuneless notes of a taunting melody whistling in his wake.

The pillow she threw bounced harmlessly off the closed door.

Neither of them mentioned her sleepy wandering again and yet . . . Every time she caught his eye, he smiled, his expression much too innocent to hide what he was really thinking.

She spent the morning stewing in silence.

"I think I have all I need." She changed the subject abruptly. "Unless you want to visit every retail outlet in the city," she added, her tone snide.

"Hey, I was just keeping busy while you shopped," Booth protested immediately. "If you're ready, I'm ready." He grabbed the bags dangling from her fingers before she could stop him and escorted her out into the bright sunlight with a hand under her elbow. "What do you say we try out the beach this afternoon? A nap in the sunshine sounds great, doesn't it?" Without waiting for a response, he continued, "Remind me to get the brochure out so we can figure out when we want to go snorkeling. You know how, right?"

"I'm an experienced deep sea diver, Booth. Yes, I've been snorkeling."

He ignored the slight bite to her words. "Of course you have," he said instead, still smiling. "Oh, cliff diving!" He looked over his shoulder at the people gathered on the rocky outcroppings in the distance. "We have to do that!"

They found Jerrick then, parked on the side street where they had agreed to meet. "That's very dangerous," he said, overhearing Booth's last comment. "Jumping from the cliffs – a lot of tourists are hurt every year."

Brennan took his comment personally. "I once jumped from an 80 foot cliff in Kimberley, Australia," she sniffed. "These are actually relatively small in comparison."

"I haven't been to Australia," Booth said, sending an arch glance at Brennan before turning back to Jerrick, "but I've been cliff diving before. We'll be fine."

"Okay, mon." Jerrick shrugged and opened the trunk so they could stow away their purchases. "But maybe you leave your medical information with Mama before you go."

Back at the bed & breakfast, they politely offered each other the bathroom to change into swimwear. Again, Brennan insisted Booth go first, and used the free time to empty her shopping bags and put away her purchases. Within minutes, he was back, wearing bright yellow trunks and smelling of coconut sunscreen.

He flung the towel in his hand over one wide shoulder. "While you're changing, I'll find out how to get to the cove from here."

She murmured a noncommittal agreement as he left, engrossed for the moment staring into the drawer that held the swimsuits she'd bought earlier. Finally, annoyed at her own lack of decisiveness, she grabbed one at random and slipped into the bathroom.

Booth was just heading back upstairs when she stepped out of their room covered in a pale blue shift that brushed against her thighs. Beneath the open weave of the fabric, the bright red two-piece bathing suit she wore was an eye-catching pop of color.

"I think I collected anything we might need," she said, lifting one shoulder to indicate the green and orange striped woven bag she carried. "Are you ready?"

With great effort, Booth managed to pull his gaze away from the length of her long legs. "Uh . . . yea." He looked down as if surprised to see the plastic cooler hanging from his fingers. "Magda packed this for us – water, beer, a couple of sandwiches."

Brennan looked over his shoulder at their hostess, who watched the two of them with a smile. "You'll like the cove," Magda said. "It's very private." She winked suggestively.

"Thank you." Brennan avoided Booth's gaze.

Without talking, they walked around the house, easily finding the start of the path that would take them down the hill. The forest had begun to encroach on the trail, narrowing it in spots to a point where they had to walk single file, Booth leading the way. He looked around at the dense vegetation and frowned.

"I should have brought my gun."

"It's in my bag," Brennan responded.

He turned around, surprised. "You packed my gun?"

"Yes."

"You packed my gun to go to the beach?"

One eyebrow lifted. "Do you ever go anywhere without your gun?"

"No," he admitted.

She shrugged. "I'm sure it won't be necessary but I thought you might want it, just in case."

"Thanks." His smile held hers for a few seconds before he started down the path again.

"I suppose it's possible that we might encounter a shark in the water. Although, if your gun is on the beach it won't be much use."

Booth's head turned as he chuckled. "We're gonna need a bigger boat!"

"Are we getting a boat?" She took his ad lib literally.

He stopped so abruptly she bumped into him and grabbed his shoulders to regain her balance. "Seriously?" His eyes laughed at her lack of recognition for the well-known movie quote.

"I'd like to go sailing," Brennan answered, still clueless. "Are we going sailing? Do you know how to sail?"

Still smiling, he shook his head and continued down the path. "Never mind."

She frowned when the trail ended at the gritty sand of a small beach. Shading her eyes, she looked out over the water. "I don't see a boat."

Booth threw back his head and roared with laughter. Without warning, he pulled her close and covered her lips in a brief, hard kiss. Before she had time to react, he released her with a big smile, and said quickly, "Race you to the water! Loser buys dinner," and took off.

A split second passed in shock while she processed the kiss. Then his words hit her.

"Wait!" She immediately ran after him. "That's cheating!"

He grinned over his shoulder as he reached a spot near the water, threw his towel down, dropped the cooler and kicked off his shoes.

"Don't be a sore loser, Bones," he teased as he backed up into the surf, hands held out wide.

The warm salty air turned to cement in her lungs as Brennan looked at him standing in the sunlight, bare chested, water swirling around his feet in a froth of surging foam. Against the backdrop of the endless horizon of the sea, he smiled, glowing with health and strength, young and happy and carefree . . . and beautiful, she thought as her breath escaped finally in a silent whoosh. His physical appeal was a factor of which she'd always been aware, of course, but here . . . now . . . She allowed herself a moment to appreciate the simple truth. He was gorgeous.

She reached the spot where he'd dropped his belongings and let hers fall beside them.

"I didn't lose!" she called out as she whipped off her cover and stepped out of her sandals. "You cheated!"

She followed him into the water, diving smoothly after him when it reached an appropriate depth. He waited further out, treading water, watching her clean strokes cut through the waves.

"By my watch, you're a good 2 minutes too late," he smirked when she reached him. "You owe me dinner."

'You're not wearing a watch." She pointed out the obvious.

He grinned mischievously. "I can tell by the sun."

"Well, you cheated." She refused to give in gracefully. "You knew you were going to challenge me to a race before you spoke the words, which gave you an unfair advantage."

Booth tut tutted, shaking his head at her in mock sadness. "You're not trying to welsh out of our bet, are you?"

"We don't have a bet!" she argued, using the flat of her hand to aim a splash of water at him.

"I should have looked around at the restaurants this morning," he mused, lips quirking. "Since you're such a rich, important author you can afford to buy me a really expensive dinner."

"I'm not buying you dinner," Brennan insisted. "You cheated! You planned to race without informing me in advance and," she added triumphantly, "you kissed me!"

His eyes darkened to smoke at the reminder. Her face was bare of makeup, her skin dewy and soft and dotted with tiny drops of crystallized water that clung to her eyelashes, glittering in the sunlight around impossibly blue eyes. "It's not like I haven't kissed you before, Bones."

The sudden thudding of her heart had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the swim. "Yes, well . . . " she murmured, unable to look away from his strangely intense gaze. "You . . . it surprised me. That's all. The kiss gave you another unfair advantage because it was unexpected."

He floated a bit closer. Water lapped between their bodies, connecting them with the intimate touch of the sea. "Do you want me to warn you before I kiss you the next time, Temperance?" His voice was a husky rasp of sound, barely above a whisper.

She stared back, suddenly conscious of the two of them floating in the current, loosely alone in the warm depths of the Caribbean. His slicked back hair accentuated the sharp bones of his face . . . sunlight turned to molten silver the narrow rivulets of water that slid down the heavy muscles of his shoulders and chest.

She swallowed roughly. "That . . . that would be helpful."

His eyes held hers captive for a moment longer before he tossed a sinful grin in her direction. "I'll be sure to remember that," he said cheerfully. Then he dove beneath the surface and swam toward the beach.

His abrupt departure felt like a dousing of cold water. Brennan stared after him in shock, barely resisting the childish urge to send a large splash of water in his direction. As she watched, Booth reached the shore and plodded out, brushing his hair back from his forehead with one smooth motion. He spread his towel out and then did the same with hers, the two bright rectangles separated by barely a foot of sand. He finished setting up their small corner of the beach by putting her bag and cooler just above the towels. Preparations complete, he stretched out on his back, eyes closed against the glaring sunshine.

She stayed out for a few minutes longer, waiting for the renegade beat of her heart to return to normal. She floated aimlessly, still unable to resist the occasion glance at him, at the long, muscled body lying exposed under the sun. When she finally splashed through the shallow surf to join him, Booth raised himself to his elbows and openly appraised her slender form in the relatively modest lines of the bikini she wore.

"I was kinda hoping for a micro bikini," he joked.

With a lift of one perfectly arched eyebrow, she bent over and wrung her wet hair out on his legs.

"Hey!" He quickly pulled them aside.

"Those garments are not practical for swimming." Brennan kept her tone even as she lay down beside him.

"I'm pretty sure they're not meant for swimming." He chuckled as he watched her settled into the warm sand. When she looked at him, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "On the other hand, they don't leave many tan lines, either."

Brennan considered his words for a moment. "That's a valid point." Without further comment, she sat up, reached back to unhook the clasp of her top and pulled it over her head, leaving the halter straps at her neck still tied. Without looking at Booth, she draped the scrap of red fabric over the handles of the cooler and laid back on the towel.

His chin dropped in shock.

"What . . ." Booth's mouth opened and closed soundlessly before he finally managed to croak, "What are you doing?"

"You're correct about tan lines." When there was no answer, she turned to find his stunned, wide-eyed gaze still on her. A tiny smile played around her lips. "Don't worry. I'm wearing plenty of sunscreen."

He closed his eyes firmly and dropped to his back with a thud. "You need to put your top back on. Now."

"Why?" A hand waved languidly in the air, shooing away a flying insect.

The movement caught Booth's attention

He glanced over and then just as quickly forced his eyes away. "Because I said so."

She laughed. "That's not a good reason, Booth. I'm not four years old."

"I can see that," he muttered.

"What did you say?" she asked, turning her head to look at him. "I couldn't hear you."

"Never mind." His fists clenched at his side. "Put your top back on, Bones."

"I'm fine," she responded. "The sun feels good."

"Someone might see you," he hissed.

"Magda said the cove was very private," she reminded him. "It's barely visible from our room." She raised her left arm, bending it at the elbow as she tucked the hand beneath her head. The muffled groan he couldn't help was lost beneath the sound of her own wide yawn. "It's not unusual for women in this part of the world to sunbathe topless. Only the United States holds such a puritanical view of nakedness and the human form. Besides," she sniffed gently, spying on him again through slitted eyes, "I'm sure you've seen a woman's breasts before."

The muscles in his jaw clenched. "Not yours."

She tutted and turned her face skyward. "They're just breasts, Booth. They're all basically the same."

"No," he disagreed emphatically. "No, they are definitely not all the same. And yours . . ." His eyes cut in her direction before he jerked his head back and closed them quickly. "Please put your top back on."

She sighed heavily and turned to her stomach. "There. Is that better?" Her tone was an accusation of his silliness.

Booth's gaze swept over the gentle rise of the curve of her buttocks. "No, not really."

Brennan yawned again, the sound muffled by her folded arms. "Would you mind applying sunscreen to my back? I couldn't reach it, obviously."

"What? No!" His eyes widened in alarm. "I can't touch . . . No."

"Why not?" Brennan lifted her head, surprised. "Do you know how dangerous it is to be out here without sunscreen? I've got some spray in my bag. It won't take you more than a few minutes."

A breath of air released in a loud sigh. "Spray! Oh, you've got spray. I won't have to . . . Okay." He sat up, reached for the bag she'd brought and fished through it until he found the metal can. "Okay, then. I can do spray."

When more than a few minutes had passed with no spray being applied, Brennan glanced up to find Booth staring down the length of her legs as if transfixed by the sight.

"Booth?"

The soft question broke into his reverie, drawing his attention to eyes that shone electric blue in the bright sunlight.

"Yea." He shook the spray bottle roughly. "I just . . . the bottle . . . I'm on it."

The spray hit her skin with a sharp spike of cold, drawing a hiss that turned quickly to a low murmur of pleasure as the cool faded pleasantly away. In a low voice filled with gritty sandpaper, he ordered her to lower her arms for the same service and then focused on her legs, covering them in long swipes of moisture from the curve of her buttocks to the heels of her feet. It was shockingly sensual, made all the more so by her surreptitious spying on his rapt expression.

"Thank you."

Without a word, he tossed the bottle aside and collapsed to his back on the sand. When Brennan glanced at him again, his mouth was moving soundlessly.

"What are you whispering?"

"I'm trying to match the saints with their saint's day."

"How many are there?"

He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Not enough."

"Oh." She hesitated. "Do you want me to apply sunscreen for you?"

"Dear God, no," he blurted out sharply, looking at her with alarm. "Stay right there. On your towel. Over . . . there."

Several minutes passed. Booth had just begun to relax enough to drift into sleep when she broke the silence.

"I've been thinking."

"Scares the hell out of me when you start a conversation that way, Bones." He turned his head to find her staring at him.

She stuck her tongue out in a saucy gesture.

"I think we should just get it over with."

His eyes stayed focused on hers, away from the swell of her breast against the towel. "Get what over with?"

"Sex," she answered calmly, flipping to her back. "I think we should have sex and get it over with."

His face went blank. "What?"

Brennan shrugged. "We obviously share a strong sexual attraction. Rather than have it hanging over our heads and creating tension for the remainder of our stay here, I believe the rational decision would be to engage in sexual intercourse."

His lids lowered in a slow blink. "What?"

"It makes sense," she insisted earnestly. "We're both adults. We're capable of indulging ourselves sexually and then putting it behind us. Once it's over, we can go back to enjoying our time here." She gave him a bright smile, confidently secure in her argument.

"What?" His head rattled a bit as he tried to clear it.

She frowned. "That's the third time you've said that. Are you okay? Perhaps you're getting heatstroke."

"Yes . . . no . . . I'm fine." Sputtering, Booth finally jolted out of the moment of stunned surprise and glared at her. "Did you really just say we should have sex to _get__ it __over __with_?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It would relieve the tension between us."

"No." He looked at her as if she'd sprouted a second head. "No. You don't have sex to . . . to . . . to get it over with! Or, what did you say, relieve tension? No." He shook his head again. "No."

"Why not?" Brennan was genuinely puzzled at his emphatic dismissal of her arguments. "Those are valid, rational reasons for two consenting adults to share a sexual interlude. Intercourse is a very effective way to relieve tension and stress."

"You have sex to relieve stress?" His voice rose in disbelief.

She bristled defensively. "Well, it's not the only reason, but yes, it has happened. The moment of orgasm has been shown to release endorphins and serotonin into the blood stream. It's been proven to relieve headaches and menstrual cramps and . . ."

He lifted a hand to stop the flow of words.

"You do know sex is more than just an orgasm, right?" he asked, staring intently at her.

"Well," she smiled suggestively and rolled to her side to face him. "I hope it would be more than just one orgasm."

He blinked.

"What?" Brennan asked, when he seemed at a loss for words. "Surely you know women are capable of multiple orgasms. Sexual satisfaction is as much a function of brain activity as it is physical stimulation. I've learned that when I concentrate on linking my intellectual and physical responses I can often have several -"

"Stop!" Booth held up one hand. "That's what's wrong, Bones, right there." He waved off the argument he could see brewing. "Sex is a . . . it's a connection. Yes, it is," he nodded, reading the disagreement in her expression. "It's two people who care about each other, who want to be as close to each other as it's possible to be. If you're thinking during sex," he laughed, "if you can think about your own body and your own reactions, well, you're doing it wrong. It's not about you. It's about the other person. When you do it right, two people become one and . . ." His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.

She frowned. "Do you know anything about physics? It is scientifically impossible for two people to occupy the same space at the same time."

"Yea," he agreed, "and that's why when it happens," his hands spread wide, "it's magic."

Their glances held briefly. "Is that what sex is like for you?"

His mouth curled in a crooked smile as he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Well, that's always the goal," he murmured softly. Heat arced between them as his eyes traced the curve of her hips and waist, the inky depths smoldering hot when he reached the full globes pressed together beneath the bend of one supporting arm. The dusky pink curve of one nipple was just visible.

He turned his head abruptly.

"Can we talk about something else, please?"

"Why? This is a fascinating conversation."

Booth's restless shifting drew her attention down the length of his body. His physical reaction to their conversation was unmistakeable.

"Oh." Brennan fell to her back again. "You have an erection."

An unwilling chuckle erupted. "Yea, I know."

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," she said smoothly. "It's a perfectly natural response to our conversation."

"Hey, I am not embarrassed," he brazened. "I have nothing to be embarrassed about."

Her lids lifted as she peeked once more. "No, I don't suppose you do."

"Stop it!" he ordered. His shoulders displaced the sand beneath the towel as he resettled into a more comfortable position. "Anyway, I'm not the only one affected by that little talk." The smallest of coughs cleared his throat. "Your nipples are hard - and it's definitely not cold out here."

Her head lifted as she looked down at the tight, pebbled buds. "Fine," she admitted grudgingly. "I will admit that the topic of our conversation has caused certain . . . physical reactions . . ."

Booth cut her off. "I get the picture, Bones." His eyes opened to narrow slits as he stole another glance at the pale skin glowing in the warmth of the sun. "Literally."

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She came to bed that night in a slightly longer version of the t-shirt she'd returned to him that morning. The sheets were cool against her sunkissed skin, although thanks to Booth's careful application of sunscreen she wasn't even faintly pink. Lying beside him in the curtained enclosure, she wondered absently if the sheets felt as cool to his skin as they did to hers. She turned her head to ask and found him staring at her.

"I was wondering if the sheets felt cool to you tonight," she said, almost shyly. "They feel very comfortable to me, despite the heat."

Booth rolled fully to his side. "I've been in hotter places."

"Me, too." She shifted, too, so that they lay in the dark facing each other again, separated by mere inches. "And without the luxury of a beach nearby."

"Yea," he nodded. "A beach would have been nice."

The seconds ticked by quietly.

"What made you choose your career?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, you're the smartest person I know, smart enough to do anything. Why old bones?"

The shadows made her eyes enormous as she looked at him uncertainly. Small teeth nibbled on her lower lip, betraying her indecision. When several minutes had passed, he shook his head.

"It's okay, you don't have to discuss it."

"My parents disappeared when I was fifteen." The words escaped in a rush.

He kept his voice low. "I know."

"Yes, of course." Brennan watched her finger trace a random pattern in the sheet between them. "No one ever . . . they just disappeared. They were never found. I don't know what happened to them." She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. "I have accepted the reality that in all likelihood, they're dead but . . . I used to wonder if I would ever know for certain. If their bodies were found now, after so much time has passed, who would identify them?" One shoulder lifted. "I decided that if I could make a difference, if I could prevent some other child from not knowing what happened to her family . . ."

Booth's free hand reached out to cover hers. "You do make a difference, Bones."

"I know." Her head dipped as she stared sightlessly at their joined hands. "My worst fear is . . ." Her jaw hardened briefly. "My worst fear is that one day, I'll have to identify their remains."

Her voice was so quiet, he had to strain to make out the words.

"If that happens," he squeezed the hand beneath his, "I'll be right there with you."

Her eyes roamed over his solemn face as she committed the promise to memory. Her shoulders relaxed. A faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you."

He nodded, and then his face brightened deliberately. "So, snorkeling tomorrow?"

"Absolutely." His merriment pushed aside her momentary sadness.

Neither looked away.

The moment filled with possibility.

"You kissed me last night," Brennan whispered.

"I know."

"Are you going to kiss me again?"

The memory of their afternoon in the sun, and her almost naked body, lay like a third person between them.

His voice was a low rasp of gravel. "Not tonight."

"Oh." Her disappointment was unmistakeable.

Booth touched her cheek with one finger, his eyes hooded as he traced a path over the soft skin to her square jaw. When he looked at her lips, the glanced burned as if he'd touched her there, too.

"Goodnight, Bones." He rolled away from her.

The sound of the waves below filtered in through the open windows as she stared at the wide expanse of his back.

She sat up. "Booth?"

He tilted back slightly, his head turned in profile toward her. "Yea?"

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the rough growth of a day's unshaven beard.

"Goodnight."

For a second night, he fell asleep with the ghost of a smile curving his lips.

And that night, so did she.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<br>_


	5. Chapter 5

They were kicked out of the first snorkeling group before they even had a chance to get on the boat. Brennan insisted it wasn't her fault the instructor couldn't take constructive criticism.

"You know," Booth groused as they headed off in search of another tour, "maybe the instructor wouldn't have been so upset if you hadn't told the whole group that if they listened to him they were going to end up dead."

"But he was wrong," she insisted, still in high dudgeon at the memory of the scrawny, dread-locked termagant pointing a finger at Booth and ordering him to '_take your woman and go.' _"Besides, I don't understand why we had to go with a beginner's group at all. We know what we're doing."

He cast a smug glance her way, one brow raised high. "If someone hadn't slept so late this morning, we'd have made it down here in time to get on one of the boats that went out with advanced snorkelers."

Flushing crimson, Brennan glared back. "You were also asleep."

"No," he retorted, his eyes glinting playfully. "I was just waiting for you to wake up so I could peel you off."

She closed her lips firmly and turned away; the images produced by his gentle teasing, however, weren't so easily ignored.

The sun was high above and already blazing with heat when they finally roused themselves from sleep. The room was warm and humid, despite the brisk breeze allowed in by the open windows, and where they touched, their skin merged sticky with sweat . . . And where they touched was almost everywhere. Brennan opened her eyes to find her face pressed into the curve of his neck, her torso angled over his bare chest, one leg bent high across his. The thin sheet they'd tossed aside in the night tied them together as they woke, twisted around their calves and feet in a messy knot of soft cotton.

It was his hand that had woken her up, she realized suddenly, recognizing with a ripple of awareness the lazy circular motion of rough fingers on her thigh. The hem of the night shirt she wore was crumpled somewhere around her hips, giving him easy access to all the bare skin he could reach. His other arm wrapped around her waist and, as if he had noticed immediately the moment she moved from sleep into consciousness, tightened around her, squeezing her even closer. Her scalp burned from the contact when he pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Morning."

Beneath her cheek, his chest rumbled with the quiet words.

"Good morning."

She began to ease away, slowly separating her body from his.

"Watch the knee."

She heard the smile in his voice and looked up to find his eyes warm on hers.

The arm at her waist shifted. He cradled her skull in one wide palm, fingers burrowing deep into the thick mass of ruby tinted hair, and held her in place as his head descended and he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was gentle, his lips soft as he tugged at hers with an exhale that tasted of the peppermint toothpaste they shared. The fingers rubbing circles into her thigh flattened as his hand slipped down to her knee in one long stroke.

It was, quite simply, the most erotic kiss she had ever experienced.

"Oops." Booth pulled away briefly, teasing her with a glance. "I forgot to warn you I was going to kiss you."

He didn't let her respond. Instead he drew her close again for a harder, more insistent embrace, one she welcomed without hesitation. She allowed him to continue playing his siren song against her lips, drawing out every second . . . unwilling to let the sultry moment end, hoping for more and more . . .

All too soon, his head lifted with a series of last small nibbles.

"You better take the bathroom first." The whisper touched her lips as he spoke. "I think I'm going to need a minute."

The reason for his necessary delay pressed against her hip. Brennan hesitated, tempted to carry the morning's activity a step further. The heat behind the shuttered look on his face changed her mind.

Without a word, she slipped out of his arms.

When she came out of the bathroom a short time later, her eyes searched for him automatically and found him standing on the balcony, bare-chested, wearing only the baggy cargo shorts from the day before.

He turned at the first sound of her approach.

"It was too late for breakfast but I managed to beg some coffee and muffins from Magda." He gestured with the steaming coffee cup in his hand to the small table, where he'd arranged the small repast. "Still want to go snorkeling?"

She reached for the second cup and nodded over the rim.

"Okay. I'll be right back."

Eyes closed as she sipped the potent brew, she was unaware of movement until her lashes rose . . . and he was there, at her side.

One large hand wrapped around the strong line of her jaw. Without a word, he bent his head and kissed her again.

Then he simply released her and went inside.

Her head turned as she watched that wide back she'd come to know so well disappear into the bathroom. Her stare fixed on the closed door for several long minutes before she sat down heavily in the nearest chair. The coffee grew cold as she watched the water below, lost in thought.

Fingers snapping in front of her face shocked her rudely back into the present.

"Bones! Hey! Earth to Bones!" When she finally focused on him, Booth frowned with his question. "Where did you go just now?"

"I didn't go anywhere, obviously. I'm still standing right here." The brusque tone of her response discouraged further inquiry. She looked at the sign above the door in front of them. "Are we going snorkeling with this group?"

"Well, I don't know." He answered in the too patient voice of someone talking to a young child. "We haven't been in there yet. You were lost in la-la land, remember?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "There's no such place."

"Sure there is." Booth laughed as he pulled the door open and guided her inside the small office with a touch at the small of her back. "It's two left turns past Sunnybrook Farm."

This time, their attempt to join a more advanced group was successful . . . at first. Made up mostly of Japanese tourists who spoke excellent English and considered themselves intermediate divers, there was less of the tedious beginners instruction that had so tested Brennan's patience with the first excursion. They made it onto a boat and were on their way out to the reefs before things turned sour.

Booth had been watching the man since they'd gotten on the boat, annoyed by the way he continually stared at Brennan. Obviously American, his florid complexion matched his rough, rather uncouth features. He was short and broad, with the bulky but soft appearance of an ex-athlete gone to seed.

Booth edged closer to Brennan, his hackles raised by the man's attitude.

"Brennan!" The high, nasal voice was at odds with the stranger's appearance when he suddenly shouted Brennan's name. "That's who you are! Am I right? Am I right? That woman who writes books about finding bones and stuff!" He stood up and walked unsteadily on the rocking boat back to where Booth and Brennan sat. He looked over his shoulder at the slightly frizzy, surgically-enhanced woman who accompanied him. "I told you I knew her, Missy! Am I right? Am I right?"

Brennan shifted a fraction of an inch closer to Booth. "I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan," she confirmed tersely.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed. "Name's Buddy Ware." He squeezed himself onto the end of the seat closest to her, forcing the unnerved Japanese couple who were already there to move. "From Akron. I sell car insurance. You need car insurance?" His laugh was a sharp bark as he guffawed at his own joke. "Always gotta sell yourself, am I right? Am I right?"

He slapped stubby fingers on Brennan's bare knee.

Booth lunged forward automatically, stopped only by Brennan's light touch on his arm and by Buddy's good fortune in choosing that moment to remove his hand from Brennan's flesh.

Oblivious to the dangerous man taking count of every one of his lascivious glances, Buddy smiled at Booth. "What did you say your name was?"

"Booth." He spoke through a jaw clenched so tight, his lips barely moved.

"Nice to meet you. So, you guys staying here in Jamaica?" He rushed on without waiting for an answer. "Where at? Missy and me, we're at Hedo. Ever been there?" Buddy's small eyes roamed suggestively over Brennan, lingering on the swell of her breasts in the deep V of the one-piece suit she wore. "Hell of a place – what happens at Hedo, stays at Hedo, am I right? Am I right?" His elbow butted against Brennan's.

Familiar with the adult-oriented resort, Booth simmered with growing rage at the suggestive leer on the other man's face.

"Hey!" Buddy's eyes lit up. "You know what? You guys should be our guests for a night! Yea," he nodded his head vigorously, getting into the spirit of what he obviously thought was a great idea. "It's the wildest place on the island, gotta be better than any place you're staying." Booth and Brennan exchanged an appalled glance while he continued, stupidly blind to their reaction. "Yea, you guys could come stay with us. We could share some of the local home-grown – " he mimicked holding a tiny cigarette to his lips, "and then we could play a game of who's under the covers." He leaned in toward Booth and nodded his head toward the yawning blonde at the other end of the boat who, judging by the tiny scraps of material she wore, hadn't seen the memo about micro bikinis and swimming. "Missy can suck the chrome off a bumper," he winked. "Can't get any better than that, am I right? Am I right?" He turned back to Brennan and this time, his hand crept above her knee. "What about you, pretty lady? Since you like bones so much, I got one I bet you'd be interested in -"

"Remove your hand now." Ice cold fury boiled beneath the lethal softness of Booth's voice.

Still clueless, Buddy lifted his hand and laughed.

"Okay, okay, I get it." He waved one finger between Booth and Brennan. "You two just got together or something, am I right? Am I right? All the action is still new, am I right? Am I right? Well," he grinned broadly, "me and Missy, we're here every year about this time so you guys just come on back when things start to get boring. Although," he leaned into Brennan and deliberately allowed his elbow to brush against the side of her breast. "I can see where that might take a while."

So fast that he was only a blur of movement, Booth reached for Buddy, picked him up by the neck of his t-shirt and dragged him to the center of the boat, away from Brennan. Buddy got in one good swing, connecting solidly with Booth's rock-hard jaw before a clenched fist slammed into the side of his head. The Japanese tourists scattered with screams and loud exclamations while Missy watched silently, a resigned expression on her face, as Booth tossed Buddy over the side of the boat.

The boat shuddered to a stop then began to circle back to the spot where Buddy floated in place, hurling curses and threats as he tread water. While Brennan tried to smooth the ruffled feathers of the crew and other passengers, Booth remained silent, jaw clenched, and glared as Buddy was assisted in his climb back on board. Flushed with anger, the hapless insurance salesman opened his mouth to spew more of the same useless invectives he'd yelled from the water. One look at the anger still simmering in Booth's narrowed-eye gaze shut his mouth. He retreated with an inaudible mumble to a seat beside Missy.

She made a show of examining her fingernails. "I told you somebody was gonna kick your ass if you kept propositioning women."

Forty-five minutes later, the boat returned to Negril. Brennan reimbursed the Japanese tourists - but not Buddy - for their unused tickets and, as a gesture of goodwill, prepaid the cost of another trip for them.

"Maybe we should just rent snorkeling equipment and hire a private boat," she suggested as they left the small office behind.

Booth let out a sharp bark of laughter at odds with the harsh lines of his face. Without warning, he pivoted on one foot and headed toward the beach a few yards away. Brennan walked beside him, occasionally glancing at the harsh set of his face but otherwise saying nothing until they reached the water.

She stopped when he did, and let her toes curl into the damp sand as the incoming tide washed over her feet. Several minutes passed while Booth simply stood beside her, looking silently out over the endless horizon. Finally, she broke the peace.

"Booth?"

He faced the sea with his hands knotted into fists at his hips.

Unfamiliar with his mood and uncertain as to how to react, Brennan waited patiently.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

Her head tilted as she looked at him. "So am I. I was looking forward to seeing the reefs."

Booth glanced at her in disbelief. "You think I'm apologizing because we didn't get to go snorkeling?"

She frowned. "That's not why you're apologizing?"

He inhaled deeply then dropped where he stood to take a seat on the coarse sand. His wrists hung limply across his bent knees.

"No, I meant . . . I'm sorry for losing my temper like that."

She folded herself into place beside him and considered his profile. "Okay."

He raised a skeptical brow. "That's all you have to say?"

A line appeared on her forehead. "Should I say something else?" she asked slowly.

"Bones . . ." He stared unseeing at the water in front of them. "I threw a man overboard."

She shrugged. "He was a competent swimmer. I watched him while the boat circled back."

He looked at her again. "I punched him," Booth said clearly. "And then I threw him overboard."

"I know what happened. I was there."

His shoulders dropped as his head turned away. "You don't understand."

"Obviously not," Brennan said. "It is quite an uncomfortable feeling for me."

Booth hesitated before his eyes cut toward her briefly. "My dad had a temper."

She watched him silently.

He chanced another quick peek in her direction. "Not always but . . . he drank. He was an alcoholic and when he got drunk . . ." The deep voice trailed away to silence. One hand fell between his open knees; he began to draw haphazard doodles in the sand with the tip of his finger. "When he got drunk, he could be pretty mean."

Without speaking, Brennan edged closer and touched his arm softly.

"My brother and I used to . . ." The muscles of his throat jumped as he swallowed.

Her fingers began a light caress of the warm skin of his forearm. "You have a brother?"

His gaze held hers. "Jared. He's four years younger than me."

"You took Jared's beatings, too."

His eyes narrowed, reflecting surprise.

"It's who you are." A wry smile curved her lips. "You're probably still protecting him in some way."

He turned back to the sea, a stubborn tilt to his chin the only answer he gave.

"Where was your mother?"

"She died."

Brennan inhaled deeply, then gently slid her hand along his arm until she found his fingers and squeezed hard.

After a moment's hesitation, Booth returned the pressure. "I don't want to be him."

"Who?"

"My father."

She frowned as she studied him. "You aren't your father."

He grimaced and faced the slowly undulating ocean again. "You don't get it."

"No, I don't," she agreed. "Are you an alcoholic?"

He rolled his eyes. "No."

"You gamble." Her tone was without inflection.

His wasn't. "Really, Bones? You're going there?" He let her see his irritation. "Yes," he admitted grudgingly. "I'm a gambler."

"But you don't gamble anymore," she pointed out.

"No. It's an addiction but it's as under control as any addiction can be." His shoulders hunched as he slumped forward, uncomfortable beneath her steady regard.

"Do you get angry when you drink?"

"No." He grimaced as he flung a short glance toward her. "What is this, twenty questions."

"I haven't counted," she answered. "Do you beat your son?"

"No!" Furious, Booth jerked his hand from hers. "What the hell . . ."

"I know that I sometimes have difficulty seeing the world in shades of gray," Brennan began slowly. "I've been told that – often," she pointed out, "by you. But life has a rhythm. There are facts and falsehoods. Something is true or it isn't true. While I recognize that it is correct that those statements are not always completely accurate, in this case they are." She stared into his eyes earnestly. "This is a very black and white situation. You are not your father, Booth, and simply losing your temper occasionally will not turn you into him."

A wave surged forward, washing over where they sat, dampening his shorts and her light cover-up. Neither noticed.

Her head tilted as she held his gaze intently. "The Navajos believe that nothing should ever be perfect, because perfection leaves no room for improvement. If a rug maker, for example, weaves a rug that is without flaw he or she will often deliberately make a mistake in the final rows so that it won't be perfect any longer. The fact that you have a temper doesn't mean that you're capable of child abuse. It simply means that you aren't perfect. You have a character flaw that can be corrected. You have something to improve. Like the rug." She bit her lip. "That is a metaphor, by the way. I'm not actually calling you a rug."

The firm assurance in her voice calmed his anger and lifted the sense of disquiet that had hovered around him since their departure from the boat. His eyes roamed her face, glowing with warmth and appreciation for the awkward, complicated and occasionally irritating woman who focused so completely on him.

His laughter defused the last of the tense moment. "I figured that out, Bones. But I probably still shouldn't have lost my temper."

"Well, he was disgusting," Brennan pointed out. "I wanted to punch him myself."

"But you didn't."

Her lips twitched with amusement. "I wasn't fast enough."

His expression turned smug. "I was pretty fast."

"Although brief, your performance in the moment of combat was impressive," she agreed. "Especially against an opponent who was much larger."

"What? No." Booth shook his head. "No, he was all flab. See this baby?" He bent one arm and playfully flexed the heavy bulge of a bicep. "This is all muscle. All muscle. Go ahead," he offered, eyes twinkling as he looked at her. "Touch it."

Brennan laughed at his silliness. "Are you asking me to squeeze your muscle, Booth?"

When he responded with a waggle of his eyebrows, her cheeks blossomed with a rosy hue that had nothing to do with the bright rays of the sun.

"Perhaps I should have phrased that differently."

She was beautiful . . . and irresistible.

Keeping his balance with a hand resting on the sand between them, Booth leaned close and kissed her. For the first time, his tongue swept inside her mouth, sharing the salty tang of the warm air and the taste of the sea that surrounded them.

When his lips reluctantly left hers, Brennan remained still. Their faces almost touched. "You forgot once again to tell me that you were going to kiss me," she whispered. "You have a difficult time following directions."

"Sorry." His forehead rested against hers as he smiled. "I'll work on that, promise."

Brennan rose to her knees in front of him.

"Booth?"

He dragged her into his lap.

"Yea?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"Show off."

There was no more talking.

.

.

.

.

.

When she slipped into bed later that night, Booth immediately tossed aside his magazine, switched off the lamp and turned his back to her. Without a word, he scooted over into the middle of the bed and flopped an open hand over his shoulder.

"Here."

Brennan stared at his back and at the hand he offered, confused. "What are you doing?"

His neck twisted as his head turned. "We both know you're going to end up crawling up my back at some point tonight. Let's just roll with it. Give me your hand."

His fingers wiggled invitingly.

"You mean we're not going to have . . ." Her mouth closed abruptly.

Booth waited.

Her question remained unasked.

His fingers flexed again. "Bones."

Brennan considered the offered hand . . . and the width of his bare back . . . for another minute. Finally, she grasped his fingers and fitted herself to the long outline of his body.

He folded her hand into his palm and tucked it against his chest.

She yawned against the warm, firm skin beneath her cheek.

His chest rumbled beneath her as he spoke. "You know, most women like to sleep the other way."

"What do you mean?" She squeezed one knee between his.

"You know, being held instead of being the one doing the holding." His fingers weaved between hers.

"Oh." She hesitated. "Does it bother you? Sleeping in this position?"

Her eyes were open, staring into the dark, as she waited for his response.

Booth shook his head. "No, it doesn't bother me. It makes me feel . . . needed."

Into the silence of the space that had become their own private sanctuary, the seductive whisper of her voice fell again.

"Booth?"

"Yea?"

Her breath fluttered against his skin. "What I said yesterday? On the beach?"

"Yea?"

"About having sexual intercourse with you to get it over with?"

A quiet snort of laughter came from him. "I remember the conversation, Bones."

His thumb rubbed her palm where it lay in his hand.

"Yes, well . . ." She burrowed deeper into his heat. "I believe that . . . that I was . . . wrong . . . to put our sexual relationship . . . Well, obviously we don't have a sexual relationship at present but if one were to develop, it was . . . I believe it was a mistake on my part to dismiss it as . . . as something that could be easily . . ."

She couldn't see him smile.

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"I get it."

"You do?"

"Yea. And yes, you were wrong."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

She had just begun to drift into sleep when the rasp of his voice tugged her into wakefulness again.

"Bones?"

"mmm?"

"Next time you ask me if I want to have sex with you, say pretty please."

The husky sound of her laughter filled the space inside the curtains that shut them in together, away from the rest of the world.

They were both asleep before it faded away.

.

.

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><p><em>Is it just me or is that bed getting smaller? <em>


	6. Chapter 6

"Perhaps we should confine ourselves to recreational activities we can do alone. Today's plan has been much more successful than yesterday's. "

Brennan's comment came as she and Booth made the return trek to the jumper's platform perched high on a cliff overlooking the ocean below.

Hiking a few steps ahead, Booth turned back with a wink.

"For a minute there, I thought you were talking about something else."

An exaggerated eye-roll accompanied her response. "Why do men turn every conversation into one about sex?"

"Why don't women?"

"Hmmmpf."

A few minutes later, a couple lying in sandy clearing near the top of the trail caught her attention.

"Look, Booth, that woman is sunbathing topless and her companion doesn't seem to mind."

His head swiveled in the direction she pointed.

"Yea, well." Booth cleared his throat and quickly looked away. "They're European. We're not."

Brennan turned to study the pair more closely.

"How do you know they're European?"

He shrugged. "The guy's wearing a Speedo."

She whirled back for a third look.

"Stop staring, Bones. And keep up."

She hurried her pace until she was at his heels again.

"American men wear Speedos."

"No, they don't."

"Yes, they do. I've been on beaches on both coasts. American men wear Speedos."

This time, Booth was the one rolling his eyes. "Okay, well, heterosexual American men don't wear Speedos."

"Competitive swimmers wear Speedos."

He brushed aside her triumphant tone. "That's different. Swimming is all about aerodynamics and cutting through the water without creating drag. It's not about, you know, wearing your underwear in public."

Safely behind him, Brennan allowed her gaze to roam his tall, muscular form at will. "Do you wear that type of underwear?"

"No, I do not."

"Oh."

His feet hit the ground loudly as he stomped ahead.

"Stop thinking about me in a Speedo, Bones. It's not happening."

Her lips curved in a teasing smile. "That's too bad. It would probably be very flattering."

Booth tossed a roguishly handsome grin over his shoulder.

"Oh, I would look great," he smirked. "Definitely better than that guy." One jerk of his thumb indicated the couple that was now out of view.

Brennan made a scolding tsk tsk. "Don't be superficial."

"Did you see his gut? And all that hair?" He shuddered visibly.

A thought occurred to her.

"Why don't you have hair on your chest?"

The sudden question brought Booth to an abrupt halt.

He turned around to look at her. "What?"

Brennan eyed him closely. "Your arms and legs show an average amount of hair for a man your age and you have a heavy growth of beard at the end of the day, even when you've shaved in the morning." She shrugged. "I'm just curious."

He rubbed a hand across the smooth skin covering his pectoral muscles. "You don't like my chest?"

"What?" She looked at him in surprise. "No, I didn't say that. It's . . . fine."

He stood in the middle of the path, his face full of outrage. "My chest is _fine__?_"

"Yes," she nodded, clueless as to the reason for his ire. "It's perfectly adequate."

"My chest is adequate?" He was definitely outraged. "Well, your . . ." Booth's glance roved her body, clad for the day in a black one piece suit cut high on each leg, with a sheer mesh insert over her abdomen. "Never mind." He stalked away, grumbling words she couldn't hear.

A few minutes later they reached the fork in the path that led to the platform they'd jumped from previously. Brennan stopped him with a touch on his shoulder and pointed to the sign indicating the highest cliff.

"Let's try that one."

Booth looked at her uncertainly. "Are you sure? That's a good ten feet above where we've been jumping."

"Yes, I'm sure," she nodded. "I only waited to suggest it until I was comfortable with your abilities."

He blinked. "Until _you_ were comfortable with _my_ abilities?"

"Yes. I wanted to see how you handled a jump from the lower level first."

He stared at her without expression.

"You did."

"Yes. Now that I've seen you dive, I'm confident you can handle the higher elevation without getting hurt."

"You are."

"Yes." She smiled at him happily. "So, do you want to go all the way up?"

Booth threw up his hands dramatically. "Sure! Let's go all the way up now that you're satisfied I won't get a boo boo." He marched to the entrance for the higher path, muttering beneath his breath. "Damn woman. I bet I could wear a Speedo now. My balls have probably shrunk to nothing."

"What?" Brennan called out from behind him. "Did you say something?"

"Nope. Not a word."

.

.

.

By sunset they were both exhausted and yawning, having spent the day diving, playing in the water and then climbing back up the paths to do it all again until Brennan finally judged them too tired to handle any potential emergency that might result from a bad jump. Booth allowed her to call it quits, all the while maintaining that he was perfectly capable of continuing for several more hours.

They collected their belongings from a locker at the base of the cliffs and pulled on t-shirts and shorts over damp bathing suits. After a cursory search of the surrounding establishments, they chose a casual restaurant with outside tables shaded by colorful umbrellas and attacked an early dinner as if they were starving. Booth's usually well-groomed hair stuck up in messy spikes, Brennan's nose was dusted with the faint trace of new freckles and as they laughed and ate and drank slushy drinks filled with too much rum, the world shifted a bit more on its axis, nudging them closer together.

A quick phone call brought Jerrick hurrying to pick them up; lulled by physical exhaustion, full stomachs and alcohol, the bumpy swaying of the car soon had them slumped against each other, fast asleep. By the time the dented little vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the bed and breakfast, they had to be nudged awake.

Still yawning, they climbed the stairs to their room and once inside, made quick work of showers and night-time preparations. When Brennan switched off the light as she left the bathroom, Booth was waiting in the curtained bed. She slipped into his open arms as easily as if she'd been doing it for thirty . . . forty . . . fifty years. For once, there were no whispers in the dark, just the rustle of sheets . . . and the shifting of feet and legs . . . and the soft breathing of two people falling together into the comfort of sleep.

When Booth woke several hours later, his seeking hands found only cool, empty space. He glanced at the open door to the dark bathroom before his gaze swept the room. Brennan was on the balcony, elbows on the railing, seemingly entranced in the play of moonlight over water.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" She didn't look back.

"It is." He stood behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and rested his chin in the softness of her hair.

They spoke in whispers, in voices that didn't carry beyond their small perch.

"I used to think the beach was my most favorite place in the world."

"Used to?" He nuzzled his cheek against her temple.

"Well, I've since seen many beautiful locations," she explained, "so it's more difficult to choose a favorite now. But it is lovely."

"Yes, it is."

She sighed deeply and leaned against him.

"When I was a young child, our family took a vacation trip ever year and we would frequently travel to a beach resort. My dad could make the most intricate sandcastles." She fell silent for a moment of reflection. "He was a science teacher and I always believed he used some sort of secret formula to keep the walls in place. But at the end of the day, the tide always came in and the waves always destroyed the sandcastle. When I complained," she laughed, "my mother told me that every time a wave destroyed a sandcastle, an octopus rebuilt it at the bottom of the ocean."

Unseen behind her, Booth smiled. "That's a great story. You should remember it so you can tell your own kids some day."

Brennan shrugged. "I don't plan on having children. I'm not exactly the maternal type."

"Never say never." He squeezed her closer. "Life changes constantly." His head tilted as a new sound registered in the distance. "Do you hear that?"

From somewhere in the darkness that surrounded them, a woman sang, accompanied by the slow wail of a saxophone. The words were unintelligible, her voice a mere suggestion drifting in the summer night.

Booth turned her smoothly in his arms. "Dance with me."

She linked her arms around his neck. "There isn't much room here for dancing."

"How much room do we really need?"

Serenaded by the sound of the ocean and the music floating toward them from the distance, they swayed in place where they stood. Booth's hands rested on her hips, then spread over her back, all the while pulling her closer. Brennan offered no protest, even when his rough palms smoothed their way up her shoulders to gently cradle her face. Instead, she melted into his embrace and met his kiss with eagerness.

What had been a soft melding of his lips against hers became something . . . more. Breaths became ragged, caresses turned urgent. Holding on to each other, they stumbled back into their room and fell together into a bed that felt like an Eden created just for them. Inside yards of sheer gauze that fluttered with every passing current of air, cotton and silk burned away with a touch, leaving bare skin exposed to hands that trembled with passion. The broken whisper of his name faded into the harsh release of hers, the words swept away by a gentle breeze that brushed over two people straining to crawl into each others skin . . .

And in that moment, everything changed.

When she opened for him . . . when he pushed into her body for the first time . . . they paused together for the length of a heartbeat . . . and then another . . . And then there was nothing to do but hold on as the ground shifted beneath them.

In a tangle of legs twined together . . . in clutching fingers digging into a broad back . . . from lips swollen with kisses that never ended and beneath the scrape of teeth against a jaw arched taut from pleasure, they created something new. They flowed together . . . moved together . . . merged together, crossing boundaries she'd thought finite . . . solving mysteries he'd considered lost.

The journey they'd begun separately, as two people taking different paths, ended when they shattered in each others arms and the broken pieces of what they had been refitted themselves into what they could be.

Hours . . . eons . . . later, Booth suckled at the still frantic pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, and listened to the gallop of his own heartbeat.

"Bones?"

The graveled whisper raised new goosebumps over her skin.

She muttered something incoherent.

"What's two plus two?" He nibbled at the spot just where her neck met her shoulder.

"Wh . . . what?" Eyes closed, Brennan dropped her head lower on her pillow to give him easier access to the sensitive area.

Booth nipped just a bit harder before he rolled to his back and pulled her across his chest. Oozing with male satisfaction, he closed his eyes and folded her close.

"Never mind. Just checking."

The minutes blended together before her cheek rubbed against his chest.

"I concede the point."

.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<em>


	7. Chapter 7

The room was shadowed and gray when he woke again, and the first sight that met his slitted eyes was Brennan's bare back sitting in front of him. He traced her spine with the tip of a finger, watching with pleasure as she arched in response.

"Morning."

"It's raining," she responded, staring through the bed hangings toward the balcony door.

He peered around her and sure enough, just visible through the haze of silk he saw water falling in thick, heavy raindrops onto the surface of the small table.

"mmm." Eyes closed, Booth let his head fall back to the pillow.

"Why is it raining?" Her disgruntled tone made the change in weather sound like a personal insult.

He yawned widely and ruffled his hair with one hand.

"Water evaporates . . . makes a cloud . . ."

Brennan slapped at the leg closest to her. "I understand the mechanics of precipitation, Booth. But . . . it's raining," she said again. "Our plans for today don't include rain. What are we going to do now?" She frowned at the doorway as if the rain were falling deliberately.

A long arm snaked out to encircle her waist.

He pulled her down beside him, then covered her body with his.

"We'll think of something."

.

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><p><em>I gave you 5000 words in Chapter 4. No complaining that Booth and Brennan are too busy *hem hem* to talk to me right now. :-)<em>

_Thanks for reading!_


	8. Chapter 8

If they had wondered what the morning would be like if they ever had sex . . .

If Booth had wondered if she'd make him breakfast or make him leave . . .

If Brennan had curiously considered whether he would slip away into the night or laugh his way into an invitation to stay longer . . .

If they had wondered about it all, neither had ever factored into their random musings the reality of a long stormy day spent mostly within the confines of a bed that might have graced a Pasha's harem. While thunder shook the windows and rain beat a steady tattoo above their heads, lightening burst into the room like the flash of a camera branding images into their memories.

When every pillow had been thrown haphazardly out of easy reach . . .

When the sheets were knotted somewhere between the mattress and the bed posts . . .

When the only place she had to lay her head was against the crook of one firmly muscled shoulder and the only cover shielding him from the cool breeze brought in by the rain was a slim pair of impossibly long legs lying over his . . .

Well, there was nowhere left to hide.

Brennan considered herself an accomplished lover. She was Temperance Brennan and she knew everything about the human form. A touch in a specific spot earned a specific result. Movement enhanced friction. In her previous experience, the intellectual connected with the physical and the results were satisfactory to both parties. She enjoyed sex, and as that sweet kiss in the middle of their dance on the balcony began, she comfortably expected to enjoy having sex with Booth.

She was wrong.

Booth wasn't interested in comfortable and he didn't allow her to set the pace, or to push them down familiar paths from Point A to Point B to an acceptable climax and a nap in each other's arms.

In the dark hours of the night and through a day colored in shades of gray and given its own sensual soundtrack by a helpful Mother Nature, he taught her what she didn't know she didn't know about making love. He wouldn't let her fall easily into her version of bliss. He wanted her to crash through the safety net in which she wrapped herself and shatter in the fire waiting below.

Brennan assisted unwittingly as Booth shredded the barriers she'd constructed. She was Temperance Brennan and it never occurred to her not to ask for what she wanted, not to teach him what brought her pleasure.

_"Here,"_ she whispered, guiding his hand.

_"Like this,"_ she said, cradling his head in her hands and tasting herself on his lips as her tongue swept over his as a private lesson for a more intimate caress.

He listened and learned and used her instructions to strip her soul bare to his gaze. He burned with her as he learned the secrets her body tried to hide. He drew out every response until her yearning became his physical ache . . . And he kept pushing, demanding more and more until finally . . . finally . . . she jumped into the abyss and took him with her.

The day that followed the night faded into darkness again. The storm departed, leaving the patter of water dripping from the eaves to mix with the sounds of birds and animals. When the need for food and sustenance replaced their hunger for each other, Booth asked Jerrick to drive him into the small village in search of dinner.

Brennan took advantage of his absence by filling the bathtub with water as hot as she could stand and soaking there, letting the heat and steam ease the ache of tender muscles. When she got out, she cleared fog and mist from the mirror with the swipe of one hand and stared into eyes she didn't recognize.

She was Temperance Brennan and she was terrified.

So she did what she always did . . . she rationalized her fears into something meaningless.

Booth returned with dinner and they dried the tiny table on the damp balcony and sat across from each other. She ate slowly and they were quiet until finally, she gathered her courage and smiled.

"Last night was . . ." She paused and forced a laugh. "I had no idea you were so . . . talented."

Booth was waiting. She was Temperance Brennan and he knew her and when he heard her words he recognized them for the ploy they were.

"Don't," he said, his voice tight. "Don't do that."

Brennan watched her fork push grilled vegetables around the plate. "Don't do what?"

He wouldn't allow her to hide again. "Don't turn what happened between us into just my skills as a lover."

When she risked a look at him, his jaw was hard and his eyes dared her to deny the truth.

"It wasn't just technique and lust. It was us, Bones. You and me. Us. "

But she was Temperance Brennan and she needed more than pretty words.

She put down her fork. "What are you suggesting, Booth? That it was more than just . . . just sexual compatibility? That we're special? That it was a . . . a message from the universe? A sign that we're meant to be?" Knowing he watched her carefully, she arranged her face into an expression of scorn. "Because I don't believe in messages from the universe."

His sharp ears caught what she didn't say.

"I don't know about messages from the universe," he admitted. His eyes never left hers. "But I do know that some things are meant to be. My grandmother has been dead for thirty years but if you ask Pops, he'll tell you in a heartbeat that he still loves her. Something like that? Love like that? It's meant to be."

This time, her tone was defiant. "Are you trying to say that you're in love with me?"

Booth read the hesitation in her eyes and the wariness behind the question. She was still and tense, as skittish as a nervous fawn approaching an outstretched hand, ready to bolt at the first hint of danger.

He felt the weight of the rest of his life hanging on his next words, so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He told the truth.

"I don't know."

She blinked and he knew she'd expected a passionate declaration and promises of forever that she could have waved away as impossible to make.

"I don't know," Booth repeated. "But I can't say I don't love you, either." He laid himself open, allowing her to look deep into the truth of his heart. "What I do know is that I want to find out what happens next."

Her eyes began to shimmer with tears. "I'm not good at relationships, Booth. I don't know how to be in one, how to act or what to do or what to say. I'll just . . . I'll just ruin everything."

With a supreme effort of will, he refrained from pulling her into his arms to offer the temporary comfort of his touch. This moment, he knew, was too important to be swept away with an embrace.

"Maybe I'll ruin it," he said instead. "Hell, Bones, the longest relationship I've had is with Parker and he's four years old." He leaned forward and touched her cheek. "Life's a crap shoot, baby. Nobody knows what's coming next. We could get on that plane in a few days and end up at the bottom of the ocean . . ."

"Statistically speaking . . ."

He laid a finger across her lips. "Statistics tell you what's already happened, not what's coming." His gaze held hers captive. "What just happened with us? Last night? Today? It's like a big shiny present sitting on the table, all wrapped up in bright paper and a big red bow. Right now, it looks pretty good but I want to take it home and open it and see what's inside. I want to know what's in the box, Bones." His index finger stroked her cheek. "I want to find out if it's as beautiful inside as the shiny paper outside."

He saw her throat work as she swallowed. "What if it's not?" she whispered.

"Then at least we tried, Temperance." Her breath caught as he spoke her given name. "At least we tried."

"If I say . . . If we . . ." She found herself struggling for words and closed her eyes. She was Temperance Brennan and everything had a history and a beginning. All she had to do was find theirs. "How do we try? What happens next?"

His smile spread with real warmth and for the first time since she'd left the security of their bed, the knot of terror clenched in her stomach loosened. Her eyes filled again.

"What happens next?" With one thumb, he erased the single tear that escaped. "What happens next is that in a few days, we get back on a plane - and it doesn't crash," he added, in a teasing tone that allowed no interruption, "and we go home. And then, I want you to meet Parker. And Pops." His brown eyes sparkled as he chuckled. "He's going to love you. And in between, maybe you'll spend a few nights at my place and maybe I'll leave a toothbrush at yours and before you know it," he reached for her hands, "one day at a time, we'll figure out together how this works."

Brennan looked at him skeptically. "That's it? That sounds too easy."

"Do you know how to eat an elephant, Bones?"

She frowned. "Why would you want to eat an elephant? The flesh is fatty and bitter. I really don't recommend it."

Her earnest expression made him grateful there was a bed only a few feet away.

"You eat an elephant one bite at a time," he replied, as he stood up and reached for her. "One bite at a time."

.

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><p><em>I like elephant ears, though. Hot, thin, crunchy pieces of fried dough covered in cinnamon sugar. How is that related to this chapter? It's not. But now I want elephant ears. <em>


	9. Chapter 9

They had five more days alone and although they began the next morning almost hyper-aware of each other, the awkwardness quickly disappeared because the simple truth was that although everything had changed, in reality, nothing had.

They were still the same people they had always been . . . the only people they could be . . . around the only person who didn't expect anything else.

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They discovered that Jerrick had a friend who knew the reefs, so they rented a boat and finally went snorkeling. The day ended with Brennan lecturing the group of young Jamaicans on the preservation of the fragile coral and the marine life that called it home.

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They spent an afternoon shopping for souvenirs for friends and family back home. Booth thought shell-covered kitsch was funny and Brennan's taste ran toward educational books on the island's history. After hours of arguing over whose idea was better, they each bought what they wanted.

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When they went into Negril for dinner one evening, Brennan was recognized again, this time in a much more appropriate manner. Before long, she was surrounded by a friendly group of tourists who plied her with questions; to her annoyance, most of them were about Kathy and Andy despite her protests that the book was really about the forensics of the case. One brave soul ventured to ask Booth if he was the inspiration behind the fictional detective. Ignoring Brennan's immediate disavowal, Booth pushed his chair back on two legs and with a wide, self-satisfied smile replied that yes, yes indeed he was. Their audience was then treated to a tennis match of an argument as Brennan repeatedly denied having used him as the basis for any character and Booth, with a grin that grew ever larger, suggested that she try reading her own book.

In bed that night, he whispered in a voice full of laughter that it was okay if she wanted to call him Andy every once in a while.

She shoved him to the floor.

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They spent long afternoons on the beach in the little cove.

Brennan insisted on sunbathing topless and Booth insisted she leave her top on. She called him a prude and he brought a blush to her cheeks when he listed several recent activities they'd indulged in as proof that he was anything but prudish. Then he gave in because, after all, she would do what she wanted, and besides, she did have beautiful breasts.

He got his way only once, when he rolled to his stomach and she offered to apply more sunscreen.

"You can't be topless and rub lotion all over me," he told her. "You might as well put on harem pants and feed me grapes, too."

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I could ask Magda if she knows where I could find a pair . . ."

God help him, he considered it for a minute, before he came to his senses and remembered where they were.

Outside.

In public.

"Put your top on," he said instead, and dropped his head to his arms. "We can talk about the harem pants and grapes later."

She turned the application of sunscreen over his wide back into a massage, using her fingers and thumbs and her knowledge of the human body to tease out knots of stress he hadn't known were there. He groaned under her ministrations, so comfortable that he was soon at the edge of sleep.

He didn't know how long she'd been working on him when he realized she was sitting on his butt, leaning over as she dug into the heavy muscles of his shoulders.

"Are you comfortable sitting there?"

"mmm," she replied. "Your gluteus maximus isn't as developed as the rest of the muscles on your body. My seat is quite comfortable."

He resettled his head and had begun to plan ways to get more of these massages in the future when her words hit him.

His eyes popped open. He lifted his head and turned his face in her direction.

"Did you just tell me I have a flat ass?"

Oblivious to any insult she might have given, her hands traced his latissimus dorsi.

"No. I said it was underdeveloped."

He was outraged again. "I'll have you know I have never had any complaints about my ass."

Brennan shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps your former lovers weren't as familiar with human musculature as I am."

Growling low in his throat, Booth flipped over suddenly and sent her tumbling to the sand beside him.

"Did I say something wrong?"

He glared back, torn between frustration and unwilling laughter. Then he got to his feet, hoisted her up in a fireman's hold over his shoulder and, ignoring her squeals and protestations, waded out into the water. When it was waist high, he dropped her in. She came up sputtering and then jumped on him, forcing him off balance as the sand shifted beneath his feet and he fell, with her clinging to his chest, into the water.

Their playful antics soon drove them back to the shaded cool of their room, where they tumbled into bed. When her hand drifted low on his back, he grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the pillow high above her head.

"Uh uh," he mumbled, as his teeth scraped her neck. "My flat ass is still mad at you."

"Your flat ass doesn't have emotions." Her feet were locked together around his thighs and still she argued.

But he was Seeley Booth and he'd learned there was one fool-proof way to silence Temperance Brennan.

He kissed her.

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Finally, it was their last night.

On the small balcony she stood in the circle of his arms one last time, watching the water and the moonlight. They were quiet, both thinking of the days just past and wondering about those to come. They were nervous and a little uncertain but ready nonetheless to find out if the tiny seed they'd nurtured in their island paradise would survive and flourish in the harsh reality of their daily lives.

Booth smiled into her hair. His arms tightened around her.

"Let's not go back."

And they laughed.

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During the flight home, Brennan made several attempts to persuade him to go to the lab with her, earning a laugh when she responded to his questioning gaze with one word . . . "Angela."

"You don't have to worry about the lab," Booth said. "Angela will be camped out at your front door. Either that or she'll be waiting for us when we get off the plane."

Brennan shook her head. "I didn't share our flight schedule with her. She doesn't know when we're arriving."

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Ha! I guarantee you she's hacked into every airline with a flight from Jamaica today. She knows we're coming back."

Sure enough, no sooner had they cleared customs and entered the busy general public area of the terminal than they heard her voice calling out to them.

"Brennan! Booth!"

Caught behind a loud, chattering group of middle school children wearing Yellowstone National Park t-shirts, Angela struggled to get closer.

Booth spoke close to Brennan's ear. "Told you."

"Wait!" Angela's loud voice rang through the crowd.

"Don't make eye contact." He spoke out of the side of his mouth.

"I can see you holding hands!"

"Walk faster," Booth encouraged.

"Brennan!" Angela yelled, as she tried to push between between two large boys standing in her way.

Through the glass walls, Booth spied a long row of waiting taxis. He leaned over to Brennan. "Race you to a cab."

She cast one quick glance at Angela's frustrated progress, then nodded.

"Loser buys dinner." She took off toward the waiting cabs.

Angela was left frustrated in their wake.

"BRENNAN!"

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The End

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><p><em>Well, it's not really "The End" is it, because in this parallel universe they're only just beginning. And you know they will make each other angry and break each others heart and come back together again even stronger. Because they're Booth and Brennan, and they're the standard. <em>

_This was so much fun. I can't remember when I've rushed to open each and every review as quickly as I did your responses to this story. Thanks for letting me share this with you.  
><em>


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